Changing Times Healed Them All
by CrazyAna
Summary: A George Weasley and Hermione Granger one-shot. Rated M for a reason. Read, enjoy, review, please!


**Changing Times Healed Them All**

 **This is my first one-shot. So, yeah, good luck to me!**

 **It's a little something with George and Hermione pairing. Hoping you enjoy it! Do R &R!**

 **Disclaimer: Neither my world, nor my characters.. All thanks goes to Ms. Rowling for making our lives magical!**

Guilt.. that's all he had been feeling for the past several months now.. Gut wrenching, heart-throbbing guilt. He had let his brother die.. because when faced with a choice, he'd chosen his twin. It was instinct really. He'd stared at the wall mutely, as it had collapsed on his brother. He'd been too far away to reach in time to save them both, too far away to shout out a warning in the middle of the chaos of the war.

When he'd reached them, the wall was already breaking down, so he'd pulled at Fred's arm, real hard, and watched as the wall burst under the curse and fell on top of his brother Percy. Percy had died, because George hadn't reached him on time, because he hadn't pulled at his arm along with Fred's, at least that's what George had believed since then.

George had failed and his failure had cost Percy his life, his parents their son, a son who had just returned to them after years of estrangement.

George lived with the guilt every day, it was like an invisible burden on his shoulders that weighed down on him. No one understood, everyone had told him it wasn't his fault, how he had in fact saved his twin, they made him out a hero, something he had known he wasn't.

But his life had moved on.

He hugged his twin every day before opening the shop, knowing how close he had come to losing him. He worked hard to rebuild their business after the war, Fred and him put in extra hours, all hours of the day really; making it seem like they were starting a new business all over again. But this was worse, they not only had to rebuild and re-establish their names, they had to make sure they did that keeping their previous high standards of quality jokes and pranks and they had to keep introducing new items to draw people in, to help them bring back the lost joys in their lives.

Ironic really, the jokester was probably the saddest one of them all.

He lived on, not that he didn't. He went about his daily chores, worked at the shop, fed himself, attended family get-togethers, joked with his twin, pranked his friends and family but underneath it all, there was always the grief, always the pain, always the guilt.

And now, he had the added heartache of bringing a new person into his sad, _sad_ life. And not just any person too. The ministry had reinstated the Marital Injunction and paired off all the unwed witches and wizards, barring only bereft widows and widowers until the year to come, to boost a quickly diminishing wizarding population in one of the oldest countries to house magical blood. The damn ministry had gone ahead and paired _him_ , prankster extraordinaire, one half of the greatest trouble-making twin team with _her_ – little miss perfect, bookworm since birth, the brightest witch of their age!

So now, not only did he live with the guilt of killing one brother but also somehow felt responsible for stealing his little brother's girl too.

Not that they had been dating or anything. From what he'd heard from Fred, who'd heard it from Ginny of course, the couple had shared one passionate kiss in the Chamber of Secrets, when she had killed a horcrux during the war and that had been that. There never had been anything more – though was it for Ron's lack of courage or her stubbornness or their mutual consent, no one knew. None the less, all the brothers had only ever seen _her_ as Ron's girl. Ron had been falling for her more each year and she had been crazy for him since their second year, though why so in her case, no one could guess, yet… yet they hadn't given being together a shot and now they never could try it anymore.

Because of him.

Because he, _George Weasley,_ had been paired with her, _Hermione Granger,_ by the Ministry's stupid gits!

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Hermione was aghast! Her hair was crackling in her fury, stretching to its limits, away from her head, buzzing with electricity all around her.

How could they do this to him? He was already under a lot of pain, a lot of pressure and now they'd dumped her on his head! WHY? She wanted to scream in agony.

Not that Ron and her had ever dated, but the whole family had sure hoped they would. At some point of time, so had she and may be Ron too, but times had changed and after the war when they'd really sat and analysed their feelings they'd come upon the realisation that their friendship was much too valuable to them to mess around with, so they'd dropped the idea completely, but his family had still held on to the fond hope.

And now _he_ would somehow make this out to be his fault, because that's just how he had become after Percy's death.

 _Guilt-ridden._

There was no better way to describe him anymore. Underneath his passion for his chosen field of work, underneath his bravado in front of his family and friends, underneath it all, she always saw his guilt. It was there in his eyes, every time he looked at Percy's empty chair, his locked room door, it was there in the stooped set of his shoulders every time he looked at his parents.

He might be fooling his family, well.. all apart from his twin at least, but he couldn't fool her.

She knew.

Because she knew the look.

She knew.

Because she saw it every day in her profession.

She was a Healer, a job she had undertaken directly under the new Minister of Magic's order after he'd seen the way she worked with the wounded after the Final Battle. He'd offered her best friends the jobs as Aurors and her that of a Healer, especially after seeing her NEWT scores from when she'd taken them privately right after her sixth year, within three short weeks of her summer break. On the last day of which she had removed herself from her parents' memories and walked out of her childhood home without a backward glance. She'd brought them back of course, right after the war but things were still a little tensed between what had once been a close-knit family.

She saw his guilt, just like she saw the guilt of the numerous patients that sought her expertise at her private clinic.

She knew how to identify it, because somewhere, somehow, despite her altruistic reasons, she felt it too.

 _Guilt_.

For keeping her parents in the dark, for giving them no choice, for playing with their lives.

And now, the Ministry gits had gone and done it! They'd paired _her,_ Hermione Granger, an insufferable know-it-all of a bleeding-hearted Healer with _him,_ George Weasley, a rule-breaking prankster with a wounded soul!

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And still somehow, they had just fit!

They had neither read any romantic sonnets to each other nor had they shared deep looks into each-others' eyes but he had brought an element of fun into her life and she had brought in order to his.

She always had the breakfast ready before he woke up, with lunch on the counter with a stasis charm.

He always had a hot tea ready for her when she got home and dinner on the table while she washed the grime of the day off.

They visited her parents on the first Sunday of every month for a quiet Sunday brunch and his parents on the third Sunday for a big and boisterous family dinner.

The second Monday was always reserved for a double-date with Fred and Angelina. It had been a monthly affair since the ministry had announced the intendeds.

She accompanied him when he met his friends at the Leaky every second Friday of the month and suffered through their constant talks of quidditch without raising a brow. What else were you to expect when his friend list comprised of Oliver Wood – Puddlemere Captain, his wife Alicia Wood (nee Spinet) – employed with the Magical Sports division of the Ministry of Magic, Lee Jordon – now a celebrated sport journalist and his wife Katie Jordon (nee Bell) – chaser of Holyhead Harpies, Angelina Weasley (nee Johnson) - another chaser of Holyhead Harpies, with Fred, obviously. Both his twin and him were not just quidditch crazy but were now proud sponsors of the Holyhead Harpies. Really, what with them being friends with one chaser, one of them being married to the other and they being the loving, doting brothers of the third one, it really wasn't a choice. When they'd re-established their name and gained their lost money and more, they'd decided to sponsor a quidditch team for WWW's advertisements. Holyhead Harpies had obviously been the only choice!

Between his rag-tag group of friends, she was not only the only one with no connection to quidditch whatsoever, there was no love lost between her and the sport and it was all common knowledge, yet she always came, never once leaving him alone between his coupled up friends.

He did the same for her.

He always escorted her for her meets with her friends.

While his friends preferred the convenience of Leaky, her friends met at Three Broomsticks to ensure Neville could meet them too, the fact that his wife worked there, was nether here nor there. Though he never got bored with her friends like she did with his. Well, half her friends were his family after all! There was Harry with Ginny of course, Ron with Lavender, Neville with Hannah and Luna with this guy called Rolf, who was basically the male version of Luna herself.

When her friends met, there was always a clear divide, the girls ganged up for their highly coveted and surprisingly hushed 'girl-time' while the guys all took the other side of the table and spoke about.. quidditch! Not much changed there!

They always breakfasted together and spoke of their plans for the day, rarely even venturing into the current news on the prophet and stuff like that.

They always dined together and discussed their day with each other, where he lightened her mood after her stressful day and she offered her wisdom about any hold-ups the twins faced while making new products for the shop.

She snuggled into him and petted his hair when he had nightmares about his short-coming on the battle field.

He held her tight in his arms and kissed her forehead and left arm when she had nightmares about her torture before the war.

They were _together_ , they were _healing_.

The process was slow, but it was happening.

Meanwhile, they always made it a point to attend any and all social and professional events together, as one unit, never wavering in the eyes of the public, in the eyes of their friends and family.

They were even named the best couple, the cutest couple, the 'it' couple, many times over by some trashy magazine or another.

And yet.. despite it all, they weren't a couple.

Not really..

Not in the sense that really mattered..

Did it make their marriage a sham then?

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It had never bothered either of them.

The no-sex part of their relationship.

They hadn't discussed it, not openly, just settled into it. Gradually, with time.

They'd been the first one in his family to tie the knot.

Every other bride had wanted the moon for her wedding, Hermione had wanted no fuss.

They had a small ceremony in the backyard of his family home with only his family, her parents, the couple's closest friends and a few Order members to witness their holy union. The Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, had himself presided over the ceremony.

Unfortunately though, George had no great recollections of the day.

She had definitely looked beautiful in her white gown, he remembered that bit hazily.

But what had taken his breath away, etching itself is his memory, had been her small smile of understanding, encouraging him onwards, when she'd reached him and taken his hand.

They'd both heard Kingsley out, without even blinking, as if both had been straining to keep their minds away from their internal thoughts.

Then they'd kissed.

The one and only one they'd shared till date, months into their married life.

A small peck of his lips on hers.

Extremely chaste.

They'd then gone back to his apartment over their shop, the one that he used to share with Fred.

Fred who was then unmarried, had very much ended up living with them.

She hadn't minded.

In fact when Fred had offered to move out, she'd laughed at the suggestion out right.

"Fred! Quit it and stay put!" she had finally screamed and he'd laughed and gone back to his room.

The only effect of having his twin sharing their flat had been that she'd had to bunk with him. There were no other rooms. And just like that, they'd become the epitome of platonic roommates.

Even after all these months, with Fred moving in with Angelina after their wedding, nothing had changed in that regard.

George and Hermione only shared their bed, nothing else.

So much so, that she still cooked Fred's lunch along with George's, just like she used to during the few months he had stayed with them.

And George was pretty sure their nightmares were the only reason she hadn't taken up residence in the now spare room.

She always needed him around when she dreamed of her torture.

Just like he had gotten into the habit of pulling her warm, pliant body towards himself when his dreams became rough.

They hadn't been a couple in the most traditional sense but they had been happy.

Their relationship had been all kinds of friendships and platonic but they had both been satisfied.

Until that fateful day…

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The twins were all about charms, spell-work and potions, she was the queen of transfigurations.

Given that, it had been extremely natural for him to ask for her help when they'd got caught with a particularly nasty piece of transfiguration they were trying to change into an edible treat.

She had taken a day off to help him and Fred with it. Fred was opening up the shop, giving George the time to hang back at his place for bit, so he and Hermione could walk downstairs to the WWW workstation together and get started.

He had dressed and had been lounging on the couch, waiting for her to step out of the bath and get dressed for the day.

When the door to bathroom had cracked open, he had been assaulted with the most enticing fragrance he'd ever smelled.

 _Floral yet coconutty._

Something so unique, he had instinctively known only she could ever wear that fragrance with the grace it required.

And then, she'd stepped out.

Wearing her furry baby pink bathrobe he'd seen on her since the time she'd started spending time at the Burrow during the summer breaks. Still, seeing her that day, stepping out in her kid-ish bathrobe, smelling like sensuous allure, everything beyond her had hazed over for him. He had watched her gob-smacked, with eyes wide and jaw dropped.

Fortunately, unfortunately, he wasn't sure which, she hadn't noticed his reaction to her arrival, or if she had, she commented on it to him.

But everything had changed for him that morning.

He'd started noticing things about her that she'd probably done all her life but were just registering with him then, after eight long months of marriage.

Like how she hummed when she enjoyed what she was doing.

Like how she bit her sugar quill when she was lost in thought. _No wonder he always found boxes of sugar quills stacked all around their flat only to disappear a few days later!_

Like how she licked her lips, too saucily if he was to judge, to get the sweet taste off them.

And how she always seemed to close her eyes and hum in appreciation after taking the first bite of her dessert. _Had she always done this? How the fuck had he missed that?_

Like how her hips moved as if in tune to a song when she danced around the kitchen, cooking meals.

And then there was the worst one!

Her nightwear!

She had never worn a seductive piece to bed with him.

He had doubted she even owned any.

But the modest tank tops that dropped just the slightest hint of a cleavage and stopped short right by her navel that was barely covered by the waistband of her sleeping shorts that covered a little more than her mid-thighs, had started defining a whole new level of torment for him, making him drool and his heartbeat quicken with just a glance at her form, clad in them.

And when she wore his old quidditch jerseys that she'd managed to nick out his wardrobes!

 _Oh sweet Merlin!_

He'd been unsure if he could live anymore without doing _something_ about the way the things hung _so unsatisfactorily_ between him and his wife.

Then, one day, he'd taken the plunge at the deep end.

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"What do you want for Christmas, George?" she'd asked him innocently one evening when they had been sitting together eating their dinner.

He'd made it a point to always touch his knees to hers since _that_ _day_ not two months back, and with his new sense of attention that was attuned solely to her, he'd seen how her breath always hitched slightly at that almost imperceptible touch.

"Will you give me anything I ask for?"

"Of course. That's why I'm asking you about it so early. I've been informed, quite painstakingly if I'm being honest, by Harry that the new broom everyone seems to have their hearts set on has a booking duration of five months already. So, he's going out to the US next weekend to buy a pair for Ginny and himself. If that's what you want, I'll ask him to get one for me too, for you."

George had chuckled at her naivety. She hadn't even deciphered the deep timber of his voice when he had spoken to her.

"No," he had shaken his head. "That's not quite what I had in mind."

She had furrowed her brows. "Really? I thought that's all you boys have been speaking about since it was released a few months back."

He'd chuckled sinfully again. "May be. But there's something else that I want from you now." When the question hadn't erased from her eyes, he had continued. "I want to take you out Hermione. On a honeymoon."

He had _felt_ more than seen her freezing in her stupor. "H.. Honeymoon..? Do.. do you mean a trip.. together?"

"No, I mean a honeymoon. A _traditional_ honeymoon. One that's at least two weeks long, to a place far enough away from all and everyone we know." _In for a knut, in for a galleon,_ he had figured and continued, "Where we spend our days reminiscing our passion-fuelled nights and teasing each other naughtily in public with small touches that don't entirely go unnoticed by others and our nights entangled in sheets, sweat coating our bare back while our mouths and .. _other_ _parts_.. remain firmly attached, moving completely in sync with the other."

He had been sure then that her eyes were going to pop out of her skull and he'd be spending that particular night at St. Mungo's by her bedside while she would remain blinded by healing potions and gauzed blindfolds.

By some miracle though, her eyes had remained in her head and after a moment he had scraped his chair back, gotten up and spelled all the utensils to empty their leftovers in the bin and clean themselves in the sink.

He had then kissed her on the top of her head, the feat not being difficult for him at all since he was at least a foot taller than her and she had still been sat on her chair, unmoved. "Think about it, will you? No rush."

It had been close to a week since his.. _Talk? Request?_ Or dare she call it.. _seduction?_

For it surely was seduction, she had been sure of it.

For every day of the week, he had come back home with fresh flowers or muggle chocolates or Honeydukes' candies and her absolute weakness – sugar quills.

He'd even bought her books!

Muggle romance novels _and_ magical tomes on advanced potions and extra-tough transfigurations and arithamancy for the true arithamatists.

And she had been smitten. Just like he had wanted, she'd been sure!

Then the Sunday had rolled in. The third one of the month.

A big party had been organised at the Burrow to celebrate the birth of little Victorie that had coincided with Teddy's first birthday, with a just a couple of weeks between the two happy occasions.

She had dressed in her 'little red dress.'

The same one from Bill's wedding.

The one with no sleeves, that clung to her curves like a glove.

Not because she had had an ulterior motive. She hadn't.

Really.

Well, at least not completely; but because she just had that one dress that hadn't seen the outside of her wardrobe for years.

She barely owned dresses, much less dressy ones and the special occasion had called for something a little more grand than her trusted cowl-necked black dress or her patented grey pencil skirts and pristine white blouses. If she'd shown up in jeans, Ginny would've just AK'ed her, that she had known for sure.

So she had flooed over to Ginny's place to dress for the party with her, her red dress hung up on a hanger in the dress bag she carried with her to protect it from floo powder and soot.

She had taken care to keep her make-up minimal and hair just right.

Basically, she'd batted away Ginny's helping hands for everything except the zipping in of her dress.

 _Why?_

Because she hadn't wanted to come across like she was trying too hard, or trying at all, really.

The bright red of her dress had already set her extremely taut nerves on edge and she had feared, _yes, feared,_ George's reaction to her that evening.

And as it turned out, her fear hadn't been misplaced at all.

Not by a long shot…

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"George," Hermione had cursed herself in her head and banged her head on the mirror in front of her in their bedroom. _How did she always find herself in such messes?_

He had stepped in their bedroom at the soft sound of her voice, timidly calling out his name. He had looked at her hungrily, yet again, his eyes going dark with his desire for her.

"C.. could you pl.. please un.. unzip me?" she had bitten into her lower lip.

 _Did she not know how she looked nibbling her lip?_ He had wondered about it while walking towards her. He had gently caressed her back and had felt her answering shiver as he had taken all her hair in his one large hand and moved it to one side, draping it over one of her shoulders.

Slowly, too slowly, he had tugged at her zipper, inching it down, baring her ivory flesh to his hungry gaze. The zip had been long, long enough to end midway across the globes of her lace covered ass and he had unzipped her dress all the way through.

Looking at her eyes, intently, through her reflection in the mirror standing before them, he had touched something other than her arms and head for the very first time.

He had folded his forefinger and run the digit down the length of her spine, dragging it down slowly. His unhurried pace had made her arch her neck backwards and he'd stepped in closer to support her head with his broad shoulders, fixing it firmly just below his collar bones, right above his thudding heart.

"Hermione?" he had whispered all his questions in that one word, making her name a heavily laden plea falling from his lips. She had felt like the only woman on earth that could grant him what he had been asking for with just the whisper of her name.

It had been instinct, because she was a far cry from her normal, natural, rational self, for her to nod at his request. Her nod was minute, almost imperceptible. _Almost._ But he'd seen it. His eyes had become so attuned to her nuances already. The victory of his accomplishment, had singed through her veins when she'd seen the wicked smirk he'd sent her way, through the mirror.

Before she could blink, he had pushed his hands under her dress, on both the sides at the v left open at her back by the unzipped line and slid it off her shoulders, down her arms, pooling it by her ankles, leaving her only in her red under-things and kitten heels.

She hadn't known it to be possible, but she had seen his eyes darken further with desire deep and dangerous and he'd seen the answering arousal in her flushed cheeks and her parted lips. Her eyes had been past the point of changing colours, they were only large and black and doe-like by then.

He'd sworn with a word she had never heard from him till then but had heard it quite often, especially in their bed or wherever else he took her, since then.

He had looked at her long and hard, making her feel naked under his dire scrutiny and then he had dipped his head and kissed her ear lobe trailing a slow burning track down her jaw, sucking at her pulse enough to darken her skin and then continued to kiss her till the last point of her shoulder, while his arms had her encircled and tugged her to him, digging the bulge in his pants boldly in the crack of her soft, round mounds.

Then he'd bent down and wrapped an arm around her back and the other behind her knees. Knocking her off her feet, he had lifted her up and carried her to their bed.

Wordless.

Not a word had been spoken.

There hadn't been any need.

He'd dropped her on the centre of the bed that was large enough to accommodate his tall frame, then he'd leaned over and balanced himself on top of her, taking care to not crush her under his weight.

Bending his head, he'd begun his assault on her again.

He had started with the top of her head and made his way down till her lips and then stayed there, kissing her _thoroughly,_ tasting her, feeling every crevice of her mouth, as if he had all the time in the world to shower his attentions on her, to take her the way he wanted to, to cherish her the way he needed to, to make love to her the way he desired to.

And his loving, just like his kissing, had been _thorough_.

He'd stripped her first, then moved back to unbutton his shirt.

With a flick of his wrist the lights had turned on but he had dimmed their blinding harshness to muted colours more suitable to their mood.

She had turned scarlet with mortification at his blatant stares. His only concessions had been an easy smile that softened his hard features from earlier. But he hadn't turned the lights off, bathing their bedroom in dimmed and muted golden colours.

With his unbuttoned white shirt untucked from his trousers, still hanging about his shoulders, his grey tie undone beneath its collar, he had laid back on her, pressing her soft body into his hard toned one, moulding it perfectly to his.

He had then repeatedly kissed her neck until she'd squirmed and giggled, ticklish under his repeated kisses and he'd joined in with his own chuckle, while quietly moving south.

He had taken one proud pink nipple in his mouth and lightly grazed it with his teeth. He had shut his eyes and enjoyed rolling his tongue over it and then sucking on it.

Her breath had hitched and her heart had stopped beating for a second before it beat so fast and loud she had been afraid he would hear it from his vantage point so close to her rib cage.

He had then left the nipple bereft of his touch, aching for more and moved on to the next one. While he repeated the same ministrations on it as well, this time he had looked her right in her eyes while suckling her.

He must have seen something he liked, in her eyes, for his smile could only ever be described at smug, when he had finally pulled his mouth away from her now sensitive tits.

She had stunned herself when she'd pulled him back down and rubbed her core brazenly over his still trouser-clad leg.

"George.. please.. I want.." she had whispered throatily in the heat of the moment.

"And what exactly it is that you _want_ , my love?" he had deadpanned right back.

Hermione had stared at her husband in shock For the first time ever, she had no answer! She had known she wanted ' _it'_ but what that 'it' had been was eluding her.

"I.. I don't know," she had replied, eyes downcast in shame.

He had furrowed his eyes in question, not quite understanding her sudden bashfulness when just a few short seconds back she had been humping his leg!

Then, she had confessed her inexperience to him.

He had hidden his surprise when she'd shyly yet grudgingly told him he was her first; and he'd shown her his pleasure at being her one and only.

"Does this feel good?" he'd asked her slyly, after pushing one long digit of his in her wet heat.

She had moaned in the exquisite feeling of the intimate touch, swearing she'd never felt anything better in her life than having his finger slowly coaxing her.

He had laughed heartily at that. She had been too lost to the sensations building up in her to care.

"And this?" he'd smirked knowingly as he'd pushed at her nub with his broom callused thumb, flicking it every which way, making her quit her shaky grasp on sanity and scream her pleasure instead.

"There's still a long way to go," he'd said and sealed her passionate howls with searing hot kisses.

Long, wet kisses that had spoken of his promises to pleasure her beyond reason while he had pushed another finger in with the first one and scissored them, opening her up to accept his girth with as little pain as possible.

When her walls had fluttered around his fingers, he had stopped and moved back again.

"I'm gonna taste you now," he'd told her and much to her annoyance he had waited for her nod of approval at his statement.

The first time he had given her head, he'd bitten her nub first. She'd jerked in surprise.

"That's for making me wait so long for this," he'd looked in her eyes and said cryptically.

She'd been sure his words had some other meaning, but then he'd pulled her nub in his warm mouth and pleasured her expertly with his tongue and teeth and she had all but melted under him.

While all she had seen was his ginger head between her pale legs, he'd manoeuvred out of his pants and boxers. So when he'd risen again, she been one touch shy of falling apart and he'd been gloriously naked.

Her gaze had zeroed in directly at his manhood and she had dry gulped.

"You'll get used to it. That, I promise to you, my love," he'd smirked and rubbed his weeping erection to her sopping clit, coating them both in each other's essence.

Then, while she had been lost in pleasure and anticipation, he'd pushed in hard and quick, without a warning. And she'd shattered all around him, her tight confines had gotten tighter and had quivered of their own accord, pulling his impressive girth further in.

She had never known it was possible to orgasm while having one's hymen ripped; but George had managed the feat just fine.

He had claimed her innocence for himself, buried his once dreaded (by her) horse-worthy girth inside her and filled her with more pleasure than she ever thought one could possibly get in their first time. The pain felt negligible compared to the brightness of the stars that were exploding behind her closed eyelids.

And she had known she'd died and gone to heaven, for she'd felt him move within her.

His voice had cut through her internal musings though. "Look at me, woman. Every time I take, you look me in the eye. Or else.."

"Or else?" she had panted between breaths, her innate curiosity had even at such a time made itself known, making George laugh while gasping for quick hard breaths.

He had answered her question with moves. He had speeded up his thrusts, making them harder and faster, impaling her wet little tight hole with his impressive length again and again and again. He had her quivering again, her inner walls fluttering yet again, taking his sanity away from him and leaving something very primitive in its wake.

"You are mine Granger. _This_ is mine," he had said plucking at her nub and then he had quickened his clip further, shattering her all around him, and then riding her harder while she had been ripped into two.

He had remained buried within her until her trembling womb had filled with his seed. Till his hot and sticky ejaculate had run between her thighs and his. Satisfied only after seeing her flushed, naked, breathless form incoherent of thought or deed, he had finally crashed beside her and pulled her into him.

He had looked down between them and smiled smugly. His cock had a reddish hued substance coating its side, its base had been coated in dried blood that had even managed to get a little on his pubic hair, entangling his ginger curls in their dryness. Her pubs on the other hand had almost fused together with the mess he'd made between her legs.

His hand had found purchase between her inner thighs and he had shamelessly spread his cum up on the v at the apex of her legs and then continued to trail his hand further, covering her chest and breasts with the residue of his dried essence. "It's all mine now. _You_ are mine now, Granger."

Though much to his consternation, she had shaken her head. "I haven't gone by Granger for months now, Weasley," she had smirked breathlessly.

"Are you always this bossy in bed?" she had asked much later, when her thoughts and tongue and finally synced up.

He had laughed at her perceptiveness. "No, but I had a feeling you might like it this way. You've always respected and revered knowledge and authority. For the first few times at least, I know I'll be better placed than you, so I figured I'll take my chance while I've got it," he had shrugged.

She had laughed. "What will happen after the first few times?"

"Just like everything else in your life, you'll dig up information from god forsaken sources and then blow me apart with your new knowledge, of course," he had laughed in a way that had made her feel silly for even asking the question.

"How can you be so sure of it?" she had asked in one last-ditch attempt.

"Because," he had pulled her close to him, moulding their bodies together just like they did when either one had a nightmare, only this time the reason was much pleasant and the contact was skin to sweaty skin. "Believe it or not my love, I know you." He had pecked her nose and embraced her from all sides, running his callused hands sensuously over back.

Then his hand dipped lower and tugged at her leg, pushing his knee between both of hers and tugging her leg over his waist, opening her enough for what he intended to do.

He had shuffled around and suddenly she had found his mouth on her breasts, plucking, nipping, suckling and marking her sensitive skin there while his fingers had slipped in her again, digging and prodding and curling inside of her, they had made her sopping wet quickly again.

"It's time to pleasure me again wife. You do, after all, have a lot of wasted months to make up for."

"That.. I do.. my raunchy husband.. that I do.." she had giggled, her happy gurgles filling him with peace from within.

And he had entered her again, just like that, the way they had lain, beside each other. His mouth had pleasured hers long and hard, his hands had rummaged her breasts and his manhood had continuously impaled her, all without him once missing a beat.

Since that day till the very end, he had rejoiced in the knowledge that all his wife's sexual assertions had come from him and him alone. No one, not one, had claimed that part of her body and heart like he had.

And even now, decades later, it was enough to get him all hot, hard and bothered again, making him itch for her company behind closed doors, away from the prying eyes of their little grandchildren and the teasing lips of their big brood of curly ginger headed demons.

That day had changed the course of their relationship. For the better.

She had finally accepted him as her husband, giving him her mind, body and soul. Her heart had soon followed their course.

He had finally taken her as his wife, cementing the holes in his lonely heart. The cracks were there, but he knew, the gaping wouldn't bother him as much now. He still had the guilt, it would never go away, but now he also had _her_.

A reason to be stronger and move on.

A reason to smile.

A reason to live life fully.

Just like everyone must.

Times had changed. Hearts had healed. People were loving again, living again.

All was finally getting well.

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